


Dreamlike

by Melira



Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M, Grief, Love, Michael not almost dying, One-Shot, Reunion, Sara's POV, a little less drama, not exactly canon-compliant, season five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 10:25:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17681666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melira/pseuds/Melira
Summary: He was gone for seven years and is now standing right in front of her.





	Dreamlike

**Author's Note:**

> This is not completely canon-compliant. I wanted to do a little piece on their reunion but the "Michael poisoned and nearly dying"-approach seemed a bit much in writing (at least for a one-shot), so I just slightly altered that part. It was absolutely fine in the show but I didn't need it in my work as well, so I just left it out.  
> I hope you like it anyway!

It was him.

It really was. He was standing there, right in front of her, looking as if he’d never been gone. Like the last seven years hadn’t happened. And somehow they really hadn’t. They felt like a nightmare you wake up from and have to make sure hadn’t been real. It felt exactly like it.

The urge to get proof that this was reality rather than a desperate dream was overwhelming. One too many times had she woken up to being sure he was still alive, and one too many times the grief and heartbreak had hit her as hard as the very first time. It had gotten to the point where she had been afraid of going to sleep because she knew what pain awaited her the next morning. There was nothing worse than newly realizing the person you loved more than anything else was gone forever every day. It meant you started every single morning with a freshly broken heart and without any chance for it to ever start healing.

So she needed to make sure that this time it was no dream, that this time it really was him. She needed to feel him and smell him, to touch him and never let go again, to bury her face on his chest and feel his arms around her, to hear his voice whispering her name into her ear. But she was afraid. She didn’t dare go near him, didn’t dare addressing him, didn’t dare doing anything more than look at him. At his slim figure, at his blue eyes catching the sunlight, at his bare arms covered in unfamiliar tattoos and at the careful, unsure expression on his face. He was looking back at her, obviously waiting for her to make the first move. She could see how he didn’t want to take his eyes off her but at the same time didn’t want to stare.

She smiled a little, trying if she would get a reaction. The corners of his mouth lifted and relief filled his eyes. She realized that he was afraid, too. Afraid of how she would react to his sudden presence. She smiled a bit wider. Although he had been almost shamelessly flirting with her from the beginning, he had never been too sure about her. Had been careful what he was doing, what he was saying and had never expected more than she had been willing to give. This kind of insecurity was so much like him. The words of the psychiatrist came to her mind again, telling her about his low self-esteem and what it did in combination with the low latent inhibition. He was aware of how she was feeling right now, of how anxious she was, both to make sure he was real and that he might not be after all. He stayed away and waited for her to make the first step so he didn’t scare her.

Upon realizing this, she lowered her eyes for a moment, trying to hide her emotions. The love she felt for him was even stronger than she remembered and she wasn’t used to feeling it anymore. For the last seven years it had been covered by overwhelming grief. A sentiment she had had to learn breathing around so she wouldn’t get suffocated by it. Which had taken her a long time.

When she had first heard he was still alive, she simply hadn’t believed it. He was dead, had been for years, and there was no coming back from that. She had ignored the quiet but persistent voice in her head reminding her that she, too, had once been ‘dead’. But she had shut it out. Because if he really was still alive, why hadn’t she had a sign from him in seven years? Then she had seen the video, taken in that awful prison, and whatever that man with the different tattoos had claimed, she had instantly known it was him. She would recognize him anywhere.

So she had had time to prepare herself for this, to realize how she felt towards him and what she made of his reasons for doing what he had done. She had made her peace and had thought she was ready for seeing him again. But apparently she wasn’t. Not in a bad way, there was no anger, betrayal or hurt in her, she just hadn’t been prepared for how much she still loved him. And she hadn’t anticipated, couldn’t have, the amount of panic she would feel upon finally seeing him. Panic this wasn’t real, panic he wasn’t back after all, panic this was just another dream she would wake up from, for a moment not realizing she was still alone, before it all came crushing down on her again.

She took a deep breath, raised her eyes again to meet his once more and took a tentative step towards him. She saw hope flashing in his eyes. She took another step, closing the distance between them. And another, and another. He still didn’t move, was still anxiously looking at her. When she finally reached him, she paused. His presence felt so familiar yet so surreal. This couldn’t be, she couldn’t be this lucky. From all the impossible things she had experienced since he had entered her infirmary for the very first time, this would be the most wonderful, most scaring and least believable.

Seven years!

She slowly raised a hand and brought it as close to him as was possible without actually touching him. She felt warmth radiating from his body but wasn’t sure if she was only imagining it. He still didn’t move. Seconds passed and she didn’t dare to cross the final millimetres. With every moment she became more aware of his presence and with every moment it became harder to either close the tiny gap between her fingers and his arm or draw back her hand.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her skin touched his and finally she believed what all her senses had already been telling her. He was here, he was alive and he was with her. A silent tear rolled down her face and suddenly, his arms were around her. He embraced her, wordlessly promising to never let go again and she let herself sink against him, no longer able to form any coherent thought. She could feel his hand in her hair, holding her head against his shoulder.

“Sara”, Michael whispered and she could hear the tears in his breaking voice.


End file.
